Christening The Pirate
by fluidstatic
Summary: How Ffamran Mid Bunansa came to be known as the sky pirate Balthier. Implied Bal/Fran.


_(A/N: Bal'thjr is pronounced BALTH-yur.)_

**Christening the Pirate**

Ffamran had never been to Bhujerba on anything but business, but he found it hard to concentrate on the scenery. He was too enthralled by Fran to care about the fabled view from the heights of Dorstonis.

They had spent most of the day in bed, talking and making love. It was supper time, however, and the restaurant across the street was assaulting them with the scent of something savory and exotic that made Ffamran salivate.

Unfortunately, they would have to get dressed.

Fran was very quick with her armor; she was fully dressed by the time Ffamran had finished lacing his fly and putting on his belts. She wandered over to the balcony and looked out over the sea, her face a lovely mask of contentment.

As Ffamran pulled on his shirt he watched her move, fluid and otherworldly. His father's voice came into his head, drawling and unimpressed.

"_I'm sure it's nothing but a phase, my son. I suggest you ignore this infatuation of yours. If you're feeling lonely, there's a lovely blue-eyed thing about your age who works for me; Perhaps you should invite her to the Akademian's ball?"_

The voice was so clear, so absurd, he began to shake with laughter.

Fran turned and blinked at him. "Why are you laughing?"

He shook his head, wiping mirthful tears from his eyes.

"Ah . . . My father . . . My father would be furious if he knew I'd fallen in love with . . ."

"With someone like me?"

He nodded, buttoned his cuffs.

"He does not take well to Viera?"

He quirked one eyebrow at her, still smiling. "My father doesn't take well to anyone, Fran."

She twitched one ear in understanding and gazed over the balcony into the clouds, watching a flock of seabirds dive into a cloudbank. He studied her profile, lovely in its contrast against the sky, and chewed his cheek in thought as he sat to pull on his boots.

"What about you?"

She blinked at him.

"Your family. What would they say to you and I?"

She made a small, contemplative sound and looked out over the sea again for a while, gathering her thoughts. Finally her mouth curved in a half-smile, and she looked over at him again.

"My sisters would hardly approve. 'He is _Bal'thjr_,' they would say." She rotated one ear thoughtfully. "My elder sister, especially, believes it is wrong to associate with Humes."

His mind hiccupped at the sound of a foreign word; the tangle of consonants eluded him.

"What is . . . That word you used . . ."

She repeated it, softly. "_Bal'thjr?_" She turned away from the balcony railing and leaned against it, flicking her ears at a passing breeze. "There are those who would say that it speaks of evil, but . . . Hm . . ." she seemed to search for words, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"The healers of my people often leave their villages for a short time, searching the jungles for the resins and herbs that make up their medicines and magickal tinctures. These healers are accompanied by wood-warders, warriors that keep watch and protect the healers from the native beasts of the jungle. Now and again, a wood-warder will encounter a beast in the jungle that has wandered in from other lands. These beasts are often unsettled by the nature of the jungle, and this makes them unpredictable, difficult to subdue. These beasts earn the name '_Bal'thjr,_' and are the subject of many stories and legends among wood-warders. In short, _Bal'thjr_ are wild, foreign, potentially dangerous. Not all Humes are _Bal'thjr,_ but my sisters would say that you are."

Ffamran studied her, intrigued. "Would you agree?"

She considered this for a moment and nodded. There was a smile in her eyes.

He smirked, pleased. "Well, I consider it quite an honor to be . . . er . . . Balthier."

A rare grin split across Fran's face at his mispronunciation, and he blushed in spite of himself.

"Ah. It would seem my tongue is too sharp to do such a sweet-sounding word justice."

He wandered over to her, fully dressed now, and leaned on the rail of the balcony. As he looked out into the clouds a thought struck him, and he squinted into the glare off the water, considering it carefully.

If he was going to take on piracy in earnest, the name he'd been given would never do…

After a long moment, he looked up at Fran and straightened his collar in playful imitation of his usual vanity.

"What do you think? Shall I be the sky pirate Balthier?"

Fran tilted her head, amused, and repeated it back to him in his accent, with a little playful drawl. "Balthier."

He laughed. "Your Archadian accent is impeccable. I'm impressed."

She gazed out at the view again, scented the wind. "The name does quite suit you."

He inclined his head in a very small bow. "Then it's settled."

She turned, bent to brush her lips against his, and murmured in his ear.

"Shall we be off to supper, Balthier?"

In that moment, he felt he could step off the balcony and fly.


End file.
